


Wake the sea of silent hope

by wifebeast__s



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Fluff, PTSD, Sexual Content, Shakarian - Freeform, Shark facts, Some angst, all the feels, kind of, suffocation, this is literally all i need
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-15 13:43:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 8,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11807145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wifebeast__s/pseuds/wifebeast__s
Summary: Shakarian drabbles! Various POVs, ranging from T to E. Read Chapter notes for details. Title from M4 (part 2) by Faunts.





	1. Something to lose

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I'd love to have a whole story, but with my work schedule right now, I'm just happy to get little snippets out. But I also can't NOT write them. Reliving the ME trilogy, and all I want to do is celebrate Shakarian. So here we are.

He was a Turian, damn it. He focused on the mission and kept his head on straight because that’s what he had been trained to do. Unless, apparently, Shepard was involved. Unless Reapers were a stone’s throw away from an unknown artifact and his commander was trying to keep a civilian safe, walking _closer_ to the damn things shooting at them. Then all training was useless, and he ignored the situation to instead run to her side, to pull her back to safety, civilian be damned.

They got out safely. Everyone was safe. He repeated the words in his head, barely registering the work in front of him. He felt almost claustrophobic, despite the battery never having been cramped.They had been in worse situations, more dire ones, and they had come out worse in less daunting ones. And yet...

The door opened. He knew it was her; anyone else would just radio him over the ship’s comm. 

“Shepard,” he started, not turning, hoping that she didn’t pick up on the undertones of insecurity, of guilt at his failure to perform at his best, “I have to admit I was worried about you on that dig site. Things got pretty hectic.”

He turned finally, to see her standing close, the door shutting again behind her. She looked up at him, eyebrow quirked, and he knew she was thinking of any number of the other missions they’d been on together. Virmire. Ilos. The fight against Saren. Omega. Horizon. The Collector base. Menae. The long list of them didn’t comfort him.

“I’m not used to feeling like that, you know,” he answered her silent question, stepping closer and gazing down at her.

He traced the lines of Shepard’s - Jules’s - face with his eyes, and a gloved talon joined suit. He lightly followed the path of the freckles over her nose, onto her cheek, wondering, not for the first time, at the fact that they made the same path as his clan markings. He felt on the verge of the precipice he’d been staring down since they had reunited over Palaven.

He hadn’t said it to her, on the Citadel. When he asked her to be exclusive, to make this thing between them official, she had agreed happily. She had told him… _I love you, Garrus Vakarian_. The words echoed in him, as he met her eyes.

“That’s what love does,” he explained, his talon still hovering over her cheek, while he memorized the pattern, “Turns a guy like me into a nervous wreck with something to lose and the aim to make sure he doesn’t.”

She pressed a hand to the front of his armor, and with his free one, he tugged her close, pressing against her, his voice lower, sub vocals rumbling, “Nobody better hurt you, is all I’m saying.”

They both knew it was crazy. Even as he said the words, he felt them challenging the galaxy, a place filled with what felt like nothing but enemies. Cerberus. The Reapers. Even the cold vacuum of space had claimed her once. But here, in this moment, in this gun battery where he had spent more time in the past couple of years than he’d ever thought possible, she was safe and with him.

The hand at her waist tightened. He wanted to feel her, to taste her, to make the most of whatever time he had with her. He wanted to kiss her - properly, with the same nuance that a human could, and he worried again that he wasn’t _enough_ , not for her. 

But this wasn’t the time, and this wasn’t the place.

“Garrus,” she started, not a warning, but a reminder, and he nodded.

“Later,” he murmured softly, reluctantly pulling away.


	2. Hidden talent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not a dance; it's a feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It always bothered me that Shepard is a notoriously bad dancer, then in Citadel she just picks up the tango - one of the most difficult dances to learn - in 10 seconds. Fuck that.

It was common knowledge among the crew of the Normandy that their beloved commander could not dance. What was less common knowledge, if not entirely unknown, was that, under the right circumstances, she could. 

Growing up in the Alliance Navy meant attending balls, which meant dancing, but not the kind of bump and grind that Jack considered dancing. One did not move with the same grace as Jules Shepard without knowing how to glide across a polished surface in heels. She had learned the classics - waltz, foxtrot, quickstep, rumba, tango. It wasn’t hidden knowledge, but it wasn’t publicized, and when Garrus happened upon the vids in a less-obvious corner of the extranet, he didn’t know how to describe his feelings.

She was...fluid, confident, assured. Breathtaking. He had always been impressed by her finesse on the battlefield - vanguards were often skilled and fascinating to watch - but this was different. 

The image stayed with him. Watching her spin into cover became a twirl in her partner’s arms. A nova charge, the jump and swift plummet, became an arching leap, the armor covering her failing to reduce the memory of the way her muscles flexed. The first time she lay spread beneath him, back arched and sticky with sweat, he remembered again the way she looked on the dance floor.

He didn’t remember when he decided to learn the steps required to match her, but he found himself standing awkwardly in a dance studio on the Citadel one day. He stood out - a Turian watching petite humans stroll confidently in. It took three attempts and the instructor beckoning to him before he stepped inside and self-consciously explained his goals to the teacher.

The moves felt unnatural at first, and the woman with whom he practiced didn’t seem as graceful as Jules appeared in those old vids, but with practice, he learned. He applied the same rigidity of his military training to the dance floor, practicing in any free moment he had. There were a few close calls in the battery, some hurried stumbles to his post at the computer when the door pinged, alerting its eminent opening.

No doubt it had been years for her, and he wondered more than once if he had made a mistake, but he found himself enjoying the simplicity of thought that came with learning the steps. They were direct, no room for error, not unlike taking a headshot.

As the months wore on, he wondered if the lessons had gone to waste. First there was the whole house arrest thing, then the Reapers stopping in, a few heart-stopping moments on Palaven and Menae when Garrus was sure he’d never see her again, and then finally the ongoing, not entirely unsurprising, running fight against the clock to save the galaxy. Again.

And then the Normandy was docked for repairs, so it would be ready for the final push against Cerberus and the Reapers.

Garrus knew how to be patient, and he also knew when to take the shots that presented themselves. It wasn’t hard to convince the DJ at the casino bar to prep a clubby tango mix for him, so that left getting Shepard to actually leave the lush apartment and meet him there.

She never failed to impress, sitting at the bar, one elegant leg draped over the other. She wore that slinky black number that Liara had picked out for her for infiltrating this very same casino, and her hair was pulled back to expose the curve of her neck. She didn’t notice him right away, so he took a moment to drink in the sight of her, letting the familiar emotions buffett him. Gathering his courage, he made his way to her.

Between his approach to the bar and the first steps of the dance, things kind of blurred. He vaguely recalled introducing himself as Archangel, reminding Shepard that she was sexy, and then she was in his arms, and they were moving, and she was just as graceful as she looked in those vids. He had practiced before, but the energy with her was so raw, he suddenly understood what the dance was _about_.

“So tell me,” he purred to her, as she arched back, “think a girl would fall for that?”

Of course all that mattered was if _this_ girl would.

“Oh hell yes,” she breathed. After a moment, she lifted herself up, pushing closer to him, and smiled, “I see you’ve been putting that reach and flexibility to good use.”

He pulled her just a little firmer against him, fighting the urge to nuzzle against her; he had an image to uphold, “You know it.”

After a pause, and a squeeze, “And it gets even better when you try it in bed.”

It _really_ did.


	3. Meet cute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> C-Sec officer Garrus Vakarian meets Commander Shepard of the Alliance navy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to do more with this, but I also couldn't think anymore, and after *looks at watch* a couple of months, I figured I should just put it out there.

He had heard of Commander Shepard. Most anyone on the Citadel with a finger on the political and judicial pulse of the place had. Potential Spectra candidate, hero of the Skyllian Blitz. And most recently, one of the last people to see Nihlus alive.

Garrus has met plenty of humans. Arrested some. Peeled part of them off of surfaces. Worked with a few. They were small, fragile looking, and dangerous.

But when Shepard started up the stairs toward him, her presence swallowed the air in the room. 

“Sounds like you really want to bring him down,” she had offered.

And then she listened.

“I don’t trust him. Something about him rubs me the wrong way,” he explained, crossing his arms in a human manner. He felt guarded, but she nodded at his explanation.

He felt ridiculously insignificant, even recognizing that he was, in fact, looking down at her. Perhaps even more surprising, given his recent string of interactions, she believed what he said about Saren. Passionately.

She held his gaze, as he spoke, as he explained his failure. 

“I think the council’s ready for us, Commander,” a male human behind her announced.

 

At the soldier’s words, Shepard looked away for the first time since Garrus had introduced himself. 

She turned back again, nodding vaguely toward the council chambers.

“Good luck, Shepard,” he offered, understanding her silent excuse, “maybe they’ll listen to you.”

She gave a slight snort, but she didn’t refute him. She nodded once more, “Officer Vakarian,” and she and her team continued on.

But she had believed him. Her belief bolstered him, and he vowed silently to do whatever work needed to be done to get the answers he wanted, C-Sec be damned. There was no way this woman wouldn’t be made a Spectre, and then she could put an end to Saren’s schemes.

Garrus returned to his desk first, impatiently stacking his reports, his eyes flicking repeatedly to the door. He imagined Pallin walking in, his mandibles held close, as he explained that Shepard convinced the council, that they were bringing Saren in. An hour passed. Another. Pallin didn’t appear, and Garrus had a growing feeling in his gut that Saren had slipped free.

He was pacing when the message came in, a cryptic invitation from Dr. Michel in the wards. It was more than he’d gotten, so he grabbed his pistol and made his way toward the clinic.

He walked in, about to announce himself, when from the other side, a door opened, and a group of thugs came in. Garrus dropped out of sight immediately, his visor scanning the area - 4 of them, all armed.

“Dr. Michel,” the leader spoke, “we were asked to check in. Apparently C-Sec has been by?”

“No, I-”

“We trust you know better than to tell C-Sec about the Quarian.”

“I didn’t tell anyone, I swear!”

“That was smart, doc,” the thug remarked, and still unaware of Garrus’s presence, “And if Garrus comes around, you’d better stay smart, otherwise-”

The door opened, and Garrus was possibly more surprised than the hired goons to see Shepard stroll in. Her gun was drawn immediately, aimed unerringly. He was stunned for a moment, staring at her. How did she know to come here? 

“Who are you?”

“Let her go,” Shepard replied evenly.

Garrus came to his senses, sliding further along the low wall. Shepard had to see him but gave no indication to the assailants that he was there. He slid around the column, gun similarly drawn. 

Dr. Michel was held against the leader’s chest. The man was staring at Shepard, his pistol aimed at the Commander. It was now or never. Garrus took the shot. The man fell back, and Dr. Michel threw herself down near the wall. The resulting fire fight was short lived. Shepard made quick work of the others, and having the backup was a new and refreshing feeling for Garrus.

The silence that followed the rapid gunfire was sudden and almost unsettling. When no movement came from the aggressors, Shepard finally lowered her weapon, her eyes meeting his again.

“Perfect timing, Shepard,” he offered, “gave me a clear shot of that bastard.”

Her eyes flicked to the motionless body, appraising, then back up to his, “You took him down clean.”

He felt himself swell with pride, “Sometimes you get lucky.”


	4. Somnus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard needs sleep, and Garrus convinces her of it. Because he loves her. SO DAMN MUCH.

Her exhaustion was plain to him, written in the tight line of her shoulders, as she came down the short stairs. His conversation with Victus paused, and he watched her descend, mandibles tightly controlled to not give away his concern.

“Commander, Urdnot Wrex has begun sending his troops to Palaven,” the Primarch started, stepping away from the console they had been conversing over.

Shepard’s smile was tight, too, her eyes not quite as bright as normal. Fighting a Reaper, Mordin...it had been a long day...week...month. Year. Maybe his entire life had been like this, maybe hers too, and maybe that was the only reason they were able to keep standing.

“You kept your end of the bargain, and now I’ll keep mine,” Victus continued, offering his hand. Shepard took it, gave a firm shake, showing no sign of slowing down, at least to the Primarch, “The turian hierarchy will stand with the Alliance against the Reapers.”

Some of the tension eased, at least, with those words.

Shepard nodded, walked around him, “I’m glad we could help each other out. It’s the only way we’re going to win the fight against the Reapers.”

Back to business as usual. She didn’t make eye contact with him. Whether that was because of the Primarch being in the room with them or because she could feel his own study of her didn’t matter. He didn’t need to look into those depthless green orbs to know that they were ready to close, ready to take just a second. And he wanted to give her those seconds.

“That much is certain,” Victus continued, as they walked around the central console, “To that end, several dry dock ships are ready to help build the Crucible.”

She nodded, and her relief was evident when he finished with, “Garrus will coordinate them.”

“Yes, sir,” he replied, hoping to convey to the Primarch his own gratitude. He hadn’t spoken with Shepard about it, but there had been a chance that he would called back to Menae. He didn’t have to say it. She knew. Their time together had grown more intense, their lovemaking almost desperate, neither of knowing if they would be granted just a little more time.

Victus paused before looking over at the hologram of the crucible, “And when the time comes to deploy it, the full measure of our fleet with be there for Earth.”

“May the spirits watch over us all,” he offered finally, before turning to his other work.

Shepard’s shoulder slumped again, as she leaned her weight against the console. 

“I’ll start managing Turian support right away, Shepard. You must be exhausted. Mordin dying,” he grimaced, realizing he should have left that unsaid, “it can’t be easy.”

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” she grunted.

The words tore at him. If she didn’t sleep, she very well may end up that way. 

“We both know you need a clear head to win a war,” he changed tactics, “There’s no room for mistakes here. You should catch some shut eye.”

Because you haven’t been sleeping well, he thought. Because you wake up every night in a sweat. Because you avoid sleeping. Because I see the weight on your shoulders, and I want to carry some of it, but I can’t, so I’m offering what I can.

“Besides,” he added, shaking his head of his dark thoughts, “I know where you sleep,” he murmured, looking around to make sure they weren’t in the spotlight. He reached out to brush his gloved talons over her hand, “I’ll wake you if anything comes up.”

She finally turned to him, her eyes searching his. In this place, it wasn’t right for him to reach out, to pull her to him. There would be time for that later.

“If you insist,” she relented, and he felt more than a small bit of pride that he was likely the only one capable of talking her into it. 

She stepped past him, her hand drifting briefly around his armored waist, and he watched her exit, counting down the minutes until he would join her.


	5. Cold & Breathless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Shepard's death, Garrus finds himself thinking about her last moments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is angsty. Oops.

Garrus knew, standing in the wreckage of the council chambers after the fight against Saren, that he would be pulled off the Normandy. The job was done, and the Citadel was a powder keg. He knew he was needed more in C-Sec, and that was the mantra he repeated to himself when Shepard offered her hand, squeezed his own tightly and told him, “It won’t be the same without you, Vakarian.”

And it wasn’t the same without her, either.

It wasn’t that the world was suddenly empty, but even with the chaos post-Sovereign, everything felt slow-paced. The rescue efforts were important and fulfilling, but those only lasted a short while. After that it was setting up mobile morgues and identifying bodies, a task that he had never enjoyed. It was grim business; the entire C-Sec team felt the weight of their jobs.

The Keepers did most of the cleanup and salvage, and it was a shockingly short amount of time before things were almost back to normal. Garrus filled out forms, investigated crimes, and sometimes he would stare out at the docking bay, wondering if the sleek silhouette of the Normandy would appear. He politely declined requests to share his version of what happened, to give the details of his time aboard the ship.

The ship docked in the Citadel again one time. Shepard invited him out to see the crew, at least those that were left. It was good to see Joker and Ash, at the very least. He learned that Wrex had returned to Tuchanka, with an aim to make a difference there. Tali had gone back to the fleet, her pilgrimage a wild success. And Garrus, of course, was back where he had started, with the only change being his increased lack of direction and some recognition by his superiors.

Maybe she had been tipsy, but Shepard hugged him before they left that time, her tiny human arms sliding around his waist and tugging him close. It was awkward at first, but he returned the gesture, pulling her in tighter against him before letting go.

“It was damn good to see you, Garrus. Don’t be a stranger.”

And it was only a couple of weeks after that that the news spread. The Normandy had gone down somewhere over Alchera. The ship was destroyed. Most of the crew survived. 

First there was relief.

And then…

_You’re listening to the Alliance News Network. Rumors have been confirmed that Commander Shepard, commanding officer aboard the famed Normandy, best known for bringing down the rogue Spectre Saren, did not survive the destruction of the ship. Witness reports say that in a last heroic act, saving the ship’s pilot, Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreau, she was launched into space and was not recovered. A public memorial..._

Garrus’s world narrowed to a single point - the pattern of lights, as the elevator descended, and the words “did not survive.”

Things only got worse as more details emerged. When he spoke with Joker, he learned that the pilot _saw_ the air leaking out of her suit. Of course he only learned the detail because he had been the one sent to drag the man out of the bar. Joker had not reached out to anyone, and it was only by force that he went through therapy provided by the Alliance.

Garrus saw Ash briefly. She said only the boilerplate message - that Shepard had died a hero, that the Alliance would strive to preserve her memory. The words sounded as hollow as they seemed to taste in her mouth, but Ash was always a soldier.

And then life went on as usual again, but even more empty than before.

There was nothing particularly special or noteworthy about the date when he found himself in one of the cold-storage morgues. He hated working homicide cases with any of the races that had to be preserved this way. The cold crept into him like some dark thing, stealing his energy, his concentration, his breath.

And this time it struck him suddenly - this was what she had felt, spinning helplessly in the vacuum. Cold. So cold. Gasping for breath. He found that he had stopped breathing. His heart beat wildly against his chest. His body strained, struggled, wanted him to breathe. He denied it. He let himself feel the sway of lightheadedness, let himself feel the panic, let himself think of every failure, every thing he hadn’t done. He thought of Shepard, struggling alone in space, her last act to save a friend, and now being repaid with a painful death. He thought about her strategic mind, at first calmly reviewing options. Growing more frantic with each failed attempt to fix her situation. Did she ever find peace? Did she ever stop fighting and accept the cold, the darkness? He imagined being there with her. He closed his eyes.

But he was not in space. His body betrayed him, instinct ripping open his mouth and forcing him to inhale. He gasped, gulping down air and feeling that he was somehow letting her down. 

He had let her down. Someone should have been with her. She shouldn’t have had to die that way - alone, cold, and breathless.

He resigned that day and boarded the shuttle to Omega that night.


	6. Burden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard asks Garrus to accompany her when she tells the Alenkos that their son won't be returning home.

Virmire made it personal.

Up to then, Shepard had been doing what she knew was supposed to be done. The vision on Eden Prime had struck her with the massive scope of Saren’s plan, and she knew someone had to stop him, but it was the kind of universal citizen feeling that drove her. She didn’t want the galaxy to be destroyed. She needed to stop it, and given that most everyone else didn’t believe her, she took on the task.

And then Virmire happened.

“You know it’s the right choice, Commander.”

Alenko’s voice echoed around the ship for everyone who was there. 

Garrus wasn’t sure what to say. Armies lost soldiers. It was an unavoidable truth, and no-win scenarios happened. That didn’t make it easier for the person making the calls. And Garrus didn’t know what, if anything, to say to the commander to ease that burden.

When she approached him with her request, he wasn’t going to say no. It was the least he could do.

“I need to tell his parents. I want to do it in person, but...would you…”

“I’ll go with you. Do you think they’ll be offended? I’m -”

“You knew him, and you served with him. You don’t have to be there when I tell them. I just don’t want to go alone.”

Sure Ash would have been the obvious choice, but she was in no shape to go. Shepard was a commander because she could continue standing under the weight, but Ash had buckled, speaking into a bottle that it was her fault. Shepard ordered her to take leave, had sent her back to spend time with her mom and sisters, assuring her that they wouldn’t go after Saren without her.

Joker and Pressly had to stay with the ship. With time becoming increasingly short, it was important that Joker have the Normandy prepped to leave, and Pressly was the XO. 

Tali would have been a close second choice, but Quarians were not as well known as Turians. At least that was Garrus’s guess.

So he found himself standing rigidly next to Shepard, as she knocked on the door, arms folded neatly and politely behind his back.

An older woman answered, and he saw the resemblance right away. Though streaked with gray, her hair was the same thick, black that Kaidan’s had been. Recognition sparked immediately in her eyes, when she saw Shepard, and Garrus wasn’t offended that she didn’t seem to notice him. But when she began to tremble, and her knees gave out, he was there to catch her and guide her gently to a chair.

Shepard hadn’t even said anything.

But then she didn’t need to. Soldiers died. And his mother was no stranger to that fact. 

The rest of the day went by in a blur. Shepard held Alenko’s mother, as she wept, and his father stood stoically gazing out of the window. Garrus stood silently by.

It wasn’t until they left, Garrus piloting the shuttle, that Shepard finally broke down. He landed the shuttle outside of the ship and let her grieve in peace. It was, after all, the least he could do. Soldiers died, but the burden never became lighter. But surely it could be shared, he thought, when she sank against him.


	7. Swim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrus and Shepard discuss the namesake of the Mako.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of love that the ground vehicles are named after sharks. That’s pretty much it. That’s why this chapter happened.

Garrus had always appreciated technology, the artistic simplicity of it all, once he had the knowledge sufficient to pull it apart and put it back together. It wasn’t unusual for a turian really. He also had known plenty of humans with a similar aptitude, though Shepard, as she so often did, surpassed them all with her own abilities.

It had been awkward at first. He had decided, upon first joining the Normandy crew, that he would stick by the Mako. It was comfortable for him - a way out of any potentially awkward interactions with others. He hadn’t planned or suspected that Shepard might have the same idea.

The first time he found her there was after the particularly rough terrain of Sarjila. More accurately he had nearly tripped over her. He had wandered back after a shower, ready to fall into the mindless bliss of basic vehicle maintenance. He wasn’t watching the ground, already knowing the path like a child knows the path to bed. He was, therefore, ill prepared for his foot to feel resistance much narrower than the solid, flat surface of the floor. He yanked his foot up and looked down to see a leg sticking out from beneath the armored vehicle.

There was a muffled shout before she scrambled out into the open, eyes wild, “What the actual fuck?!”

He stepped back quickly, “Sorry - are you hurt?”

She shook her head, wiping her forehead, “No, no. I’m fine. I just...you’re heavy.” 

After that, it was no longer a surprise to see her two (admittedly strange) legs sticking out from the front of the Mako. Sometimes he would slump down, leaning against its hull and tapping her leg. They would have entire conversations, just him and her boots.

“Do you know much about them?” She had asked once.

“Armored vehicles? Tanks?”

She laughed, “Sharks.”

“What?”

Shepard appeared at his side, rolling back out into the open, grease-stained and grinning, “This baby’s named after a shark. They’re sea creatures, back on Earth. Look them up,” she offered, sliding back under.

The sounds of tinkering filled the silence, so he pulled up the extranet on his omnitool to search. He flipped through the images available, his mandible flicking thoughtfully. They were strange looking things, fins and...so many teeth. 

“Mako sharks are the fastest out there,” she supplied, as if knowing he had already done as she asked, “so I always feel like our baby here should live up to that.”

Garrus chuckled at that, then flipped away from images to read more about these creatures, “Says here sharks never stop moving, either. Makes me think of someone else.”

“What are you saying, Vakarian?”

“Nothing, commander.”

The wheels of the small cart she used to roll under the transport made a familiar scratching noise, as she slid quickly back out to face him, “Do I sense insubordination? From a _turian_?”

This had become a thing; he couldn’t remember quite when it started, but increasingly she had been teasing him about the hierarchy and strict military standards of his species. More importantly he couldn’t remember when he had stopped following those strict standards to fling the stereotypes back.

“Surprised that a human would even notice,” he countered, lowering his omnitool.

“Did you see their jaws?” She nodded slightly to his arm, “See all the teeth?”

“I saw the teeth.”

“But did you see all of them? They have rows of them,” she pointed behind her own, blunt human ones, “So that if one falls out, they have a few spare.”

“Yeah.”

“They’re _sharp_ ,” she continued, ignoring his answer, or more likely just now intensely focused on the topic, “and because they fall out, you can find them on the beach. People would collect them or even make necklaces from them.”

“You have one?”

She quirked a brow, “Do I look like a beach bum?”

He shook his head, “You know I love how you assume I speak human.”

“Right, right,” she nodded, “no water on Palaven. No sharks. Boring. Anyway I figure the Mako has to be the same right? Lose a wheel, just slap another one on. Fast and persistent.”

Garrus wondered for a split second if she was even still talking about the tank, but before he could ask, she was back under the hull, humming some tune to herself.


	8. Edolus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard, Garrus, and Wrex go to Edolus in search of missing marines.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always thought that this mission would be super difficult to a sole survivor Shep. So obviously this needed to happen. Also should point out, these are all kind of related, but Shep is an amalgam of ALL of my Sheps. In case you were like “wait...I thought Jules’s background was...”

“I don’t like this,” Shepard muttered, sliding into the Mako, “Kahoku said his marines went missing around here, and now we have an unclear distress call.”

Garrus and Wrex had piled in with her, and the krogan grunted, “It certainly doesn’t paint an optimistic picture.”

The commander sighed heavily, rolling her shoulders, “You know, just once I would like to find the missing people alive and well. Maybe with a banner that says ‘Haha! You fell for it!’ I wouldn’t even mind wasting the resources.”

They dropped from the Normandy. It was a feeling that Garrus was accustomed to but not fond of. The ground rose to meet them, and they hit it solidly. The shocks in the Mako absorbed the worst of the impact, but he and Wrex almost always hit their heads on the roof of the tank from the jolt.

They had barely hit before she was gunning it, head turning between the terrain ahead of them and the readout on the screen, steadily tracking the beacon’s signal. 

“I’d settle for smooth terrain,” Garrus offered, picking up the conversation where they had left it before the plummet.

Wrex barked a laugh, and Shepard cast a look over her shoulder, “You couldn’t fit up here to drive, Garrus. I think I do ok.”

“Joker couldn’t make the rides on these rocky planets smooth. That was not a slight against your skill and prestige.”

Shepard nodded, “Damn right.”

They crested a hill and looked out on a flat expanse. In the middle of the sandy plain was a building and, even from this distance, what were obviously corpses. He heard Shepard cuss quietly under her breath. 

Wrex leaned forward, “That’s suspicious.”

The commander’s gauntlets made a creaking noise, as she gripped the steering wheel tightly and began a slow approach. Before Garrus had an opportunity to ask if the new terrain had confused her, the ground began to shake.

Shepard threw the Mako into reverse, practically screaming at him, “Cannon! Get on the cannon! Wrex-“

“On it!”

Garrus had never seen a thresher maw before. He knew they were big, but he wasn’t prepared for the creature that tore itself from the ground, its ugly head swinging to look at them. He took a shot in near-blind panic. He heard the machine gun going at full blast and worked as quickly as possible to line up the next shot.

It was difficult. Shepard had picked up the speed again, driving the vehicle hard to the left of the creature and wildly swinging it back around, “Shoot!”

No sooner had he launched the second shot then she was on the move again. He heard, more than saw, the sizzling acid that had been flung their way. They dodged most of it, but they heard a splash against the back.

“Fuck!”

Shepard backed up before spinning 180 degrees to speed away and loop around behind the creature, trying to beat its lazy spin, “Again!”

The machine gun was still pounding its staccato attacks. Third shot was away, and it felt like the damn thing wasn’t slowing down.

They fell into a rhythm; Shepard spun and wove them around, trying to stay behind the massive head at all times, while Wrex kept a steady stream of bullets, and Garrus took shots, as he was able. It felt like an eternity. There were more close calls, and just when he was sure he could see the sand that was being spit out behind them through holes burned into the hull, the thing let out a wailing shriek before wobbling dramatically and landing with a shuddering crash against the ground.

Wrex shouted some sort of victory cry, and even Garrus started to praise their abilities, but Shepard was silent. The vehicle didn’t stop, so much as decelerated to a near standstill. Wrex realized something was wrong before he did. The krogan reached forward and yanked on one of the pulls that caused a jerking halt.

“Shepard?”

She said nothing. Wrex gave Garrus a narrowed glare and muscled his way out of the vehicle to yank open the commander’s door, “Shepard!”

Garrus reached up and placed a hand on her shoulder, reaching for a pulse - had she been hit somehow? That was a mistake. She jolted away with a shriek and practically fell out of the Mako. She would have landed in the sand except that Wrex caught her, causing another panic, as she ripped free from him and stumbled back.

“Akuze,” Garrus muttered angrily, only now remembering the harrowing story of her most storied survival to-date.

Wrex grunted, and they gave her space. After a while her breathing evened out, though it came is rasping pants. Garrus watched her vitals closely through his visor. Her heartbeat had been erratic since the encounter, and it took longer than usual to slow.

“Shit,” she let out with a long exhale, “shit, shit, shit.”

“You ok?” Garrus approached her again, slowly, keeping his hands loose at his side to remain unthreatening.

She shook her head and said nothing else.

“I’m going to take a look around,” Wrex offered, sharing a nod with Garrus.

The turian slid down to Shepard’s level, “Hey - we’re here. We made it.”

She surprised him, then, reaching out to grip his arm, nodding, “Right. You’re ok.”

He tried not to think about her choice of words. She was just relieved to be alive, had probably just relived her worst trauma. “I’m ok. Wrex is ok. The Mako is...well, it’s repairable.”

A soft sound, maybe a chuckle. She would be ok, too, he reminded himself, covering her hand with his and giving it a squeeze.


	9. Word is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kasumi has heard a lot of people talking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love, love, love, love that Kasumi comments on Shep’s LI in Mass Effect 2. My first playthrough, I didn’t realize that her dialogue changed every time, so I only spoke with her a handful of times. My second...and third...fourth...etc. playthroughs, though, I visited after every mission.

The same, or at least very similar, words were on everyone’s lips. Kasumi had considered beginning a poll or perhaps just keeping a tally, but it quickly became apparent that it would prove unnecessary.

“He only ever laughs when she’s around,” was a common phrase thrown out as evidence.

“Damn near struts when she compliments him,” were direct from Chakwas, and who better to listen to?

Maybe Chambers. And she had even more damning evidence - according to her, Garrus had taken it upon himself to manage the upkeep on Shepard’s weapons and armor, ensuring that they were functioning at top performance. 

Others only pointed to the fact that he had stuck with her - left C-Sec to join her in the hunt for Saren, and then left again not long after she was spaced, only to return with her from near death on Omega. “What else would make a man survive a rocket to the face?”

It was a reasonable question, really. People - humans and aliens alike - were far more likely to pull through an injury or an illness if there was something worth living for. And what was more worthy than love?

She tried to watch their interactions more closely. Shepard was pretty obvious, though she kept it very low key when around others. Garrus was...a turian. Was the flick of mandibles a smile? Was it different when he did it toward Shepard? She never could tell. 

At least one person claimed to have overheard Garrus speaking with someone about a potential date with a human and did the person with whom he was speaking have any advice?

She was dubious about that one until Tali recounted, in hushed tones even in the confines of the observation room, that Garrus had confided directly with her. Shepard had mentioned blowing off steam, and he was nervous - something about amino acids and oh, spirits, what if he screwed up something and that was it because he was fairly certain he couldn’t stand to have her look at him any differently or worse decide that he wasn’t worth the hassle and what if she even kicked him off the team.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the door opening and Shepard striding in, giving her a slight nod, “Kasumi.”

“You know,” the thief started before she could stop herself, “people are talking out there.”

A raised eyebrow.

“And I hear it all. Word is…”


	10. Siha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thane muses on the one he has named Siha, and the warrior goddess’s own guardian angel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even MOAR third party POVs. Look at that.

Thane’s first impression of Shepard had been one of professional interest and respect. She was no assassin, but she had never claimed to be. She moved efficiently through the building, her two person team a few steps behind, working like a well-oiled machine. Everyone in the galaxy knew that Commander Shepard could kill, so surprise was not in the mix of thoughts and emotions swirling in him when they finally were face-to-face.

The first time he felt truly inspired was soon after they met. While still on Illium, having found both himself and the Justicar, Shepard was cleaning up loose ends, when a green-skinned Asari approached her.

It seemed that they knew one another, and as the one explained the situation at what he assumed was a colony Shepard had once visited, Shepard listened intently. The commander’s focus was singular. Her questions were sincere, as was her offer of help. It was unique; so often he saw humans in conversations distracted, waiting for their chance to speak, rather than hearing what the other was saying. Shepard was not like that.

They were met with hostility at the kiosk that the Asari, Shiala, had pointed out to them. The representative showed nothing but disdain for aliens. But Shepard didn’t hear anger; she heard pain, and her request was genuine, for Erinya to talk about her bondmate and children. Again she listened, praising their works and mourning their loss. Erinya’s face was tear-streaked when she offered help, rescinding her earlier disdain.

In the span of minutes, Shepard solved the issue and provided some semblance of peace to a lonely and broken person. 

It happened again on the Citadel. And again on Omega. Everywhere she went, she wielded either words or weapons to an exceptional degree, never choosing wrong.

He was not surprised to find himself hanging on those words. She was soft in many ways and hard in others, and he cursed his disease for its imposed time limit. He wanted to see all of her depth, find the center of her and fall to his knees before it.

These things he wanted, so wrapped up in the thought of them, he missed the signs. At least at first.

Unless absolutely impossible, Garrus accompanied Shepard on all missions. He was a steady presence at her side or, more often, a few steps behind, a looming shadow that ensured nothing approached without him knowing. That was how he had missed it. So natural was it to see them together, to see them working in sync, that it was easy to forget that they were not in fact a single entity.

It wasn’t just that, though. Any one of her crew would throw themselves at the Collectors to pay back some small portion of the loyalty she showed them all. 

It was the way Garrus touched her, when he did, though it was rare. Even when necessary to move quickly, he was never rough. He exerted enough power to move her away from danger and always closer - right into his space - before he would gaze down at her. His talons would linger before letting go.

It was the way Garrus spoke of her, when a group was together and the commander became the topic of discussion. It may have been borne of being the only one among them, at the time anyway, who had been with Shepard at the beginning. But his subvocals told another story, and they thrummed a low tune that Thane wondered if the turian was even conscious of.

He had no hope of demonstrating the same level of devotion, of overcoming the bond built between them through fire and death, but he couldn’t help the word that spilled from his lips. Regardless of whom his warrior angel chose to love, it rang true, but its meaning would remain his secret.


	11. Cross Species

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrus doesn’t have a fetish, but that’s not what it’s about

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was rough. And not just because I’m too damn busy.

“I’m not going to pretend I’ve got a fetish for humans” he had said. The words echoed in his brain, as he stared at the targeting algorithms in front of him. 

It was true. The words themselves and the sentiment. He hoped now, hours later, that they hadn’t come across as disinterested. That wasn’t really the case, but things were...different. And besides this wasn’t about that.

Garrus had felt affection for previous partners, but in his experience that had come after getting physical with them. The pattern had always been meet partner, attraction, sex, then more sex, and then if there was going to be anything else, that came after. Maybe it would be romantic to say that he had always been interested in Shepard that way, but the fact was...his initial reaction to her was not sexually charged. 

He was in awe of her, sure. He had always appreciated her strength, her combat prowess, her ability to diffuse situations that were ready to blow. His admiration grew into respect, that respect blossomed into the deepest friendship he had ever experienced, and there was another level of warmth that had recently started to bloom in chest when they were together.

Those things made her attractive to him — at least now — and even then it was spurred primarily by her broaching the topic.

With a deep sigh, he brought up his omnitool and typed in his search parameters. The algorithms hadn’t changed since he’d been staring at them anyway.

Images of human women, chests thrust out, legs spread, strange expressions that may be pain? 

He altered his search.

Images of Shepard. Stock news photos mostly, stills from various interviews. Shepard smiling. Shepard looking sternly at the camera, her expression clearly displaying her impatience and disgust. There was that warmth in his chest. 

He flipped back to one of the other photos, trying to picture Shepard in a similar pose. It didn’t come to him. He couldn’t resolve these images with the woman he knew.

In his mind, he only saw her smiling. He saw her sprinting across the field of battle, sliding behind cover and taking a shot. He saw her running toward him to pull him into cover. He saw her sliding out from under the Mako, stretching after a workout session, leaning against a rail while speaking with Tali. Saw her emerging from the wreckage of Sovereign, arm held tight against her chest. Saw her through his scope, a spirit coming to take him away. 

Another search.

A turian male with his hand wrapped around a human woman’s waist, foreheads touching in a moment of tenderness. Another of the same couple, his talons caressing her cheek, having pulled her closer. These things he could imagine. Having Shepard close to him, expressing his respect and admiration in some way that felt intimate to him, helping her to find some calm in the sea of uncertainty and stress.

He flipped back to his second search, scrolling through idly, picturing Shepard with him in these moments. One image gave him pause. He enlarged it, his mandibles spreading in something like a grin, or maybe just trying to remember this moment.

The smoking remains of Sovereign were in the background. In the foreground Shepard was facing the camera, though not looking at it. She was leaned forward, her hand clasped on a turian‘s upper arm, smiling warmly up at their face. It was with a flutter in his chest that he recognized it as his armor, his arm, his eyes that she was looking up into. The memory came to him. The relief. The joy. The small slice of fear that he would have to leave the Normandy.

There was a delicious, heavy and constricting feeling in his chest at the sight. He didn’t have a human fetish, but Shepard had always been more than that. And so was this.


	12. Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Normandy leaves the Crucible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who’s feeling angsty? Me. I’m feeling angsty.

They knew she had made it to the Citadel. Hackett had been in contact with her, at least briefly. And then nothing, but there had been no explosion, no indication that anything had changed or gone to hell in there.

The Normandy held its breath.

Adams, Daniels, and Donnelly were glued to their stations, keeping the ship just at that threshold, ready to jump as soon as possible. Tali came nearly sprinting through the door, as soon as she was picked up and able to join them. If Gabby and Kenneth were standing closer than normal, nothing was said.

James, Cortez, and Ashley stood pressed against the glass of the starboard observation deck, wondering if they should be on Earth, instead, fighting to their last breath, though not one of them believed Shepard would fail.

Javik was just outside medbay, giving the turian some privacy after helping to subdue him. Chakwas and EDI had stabilized Garrus, who was groggy but aware, eyes focused on the comm system in the room.

Liara and Traynor bracketed Joker, all three watching the Crucible when it lit up, coming to life in an instant. The beam flickered out.

“I repeat: disengage and get out of here.”

The ship shook, readings on the panel lighting up faster than Joker could track them.

“Jeff, we have to go,” Liara pressed.

_No. ___

__“Damn it.”_ _

__The Normandy came back to life, inhaled on the turn._ _

__In the medbay, the movement was noticed._ _

__“Is Shepard back? Where is she? Joker?”_ _

__No response._ _

__“Joker! Where’s Shepard?”_ _

__His sub vocals hummed with desperation, but no answer came. He heaved himself up from the table, cords and tape stretching, ripping free, as he struggled against his own injuries to lunge at the door._ _

__“Javik!” Chakwas cried, though EDI was able to keep the turian down relatively easily once in action._ _

__Still the Prothean came in to help._ _

__Garrus struggled against them, a terrible keen erupting from his throat._ _

__The sound reached the soldiers on the observation deck, and they knew. More than any other horror from that day, they knew this moment would be the one their dreams would relive for the rest of their days._ _


	13. Take me to church

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrus wasn’t sure that blowing off steam would even be possible...he was wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just really wanted to use the line “insert rod A into slot B.”

There had been moments when he thought for sure it wouldn’t work. What were the chances, he’d muse, that turians and humans, from entirely different planets, different evolution, would be compatible?

Then again, what were the chances that a burned-out C-Sec agent one argument away from a demotion would be chosen to help stop a Spectre? Or the chances Nihlus would be betrayed, Shepard made Spectre, and they would meet? The cause and effect that had led to that alone...much less finding friendship and then more with her.

Research had confirmed it was possible. Insert rod A into slot B was , somehow, near universal in the galaxy, give or take a few side effects. So that was lucky, but what about...everything else? Would he be able to please her? Or would he disappoint her? Worse - would he hurt her?

Those thoughts stuck with him for a long time. Until the first time she shivered when he drew a line down her body with a filed talon - between her breasts, over the soft skin of her stomach. Until he tasted her, watched her arch breathless and panting, as he explored her with his tongue. 

And as it turned out, inserting rod A into slot B was better than just inserting.

He had his visor for holding a lot of memories, but the first time belonged to them alone. He didn’t need it to remember the look on her face in that moment. He would never forget the feeling of entering her the first time. The enormity of that moment, having part of himself within her, sharing space with her so completely.

He had since learned the specifics (and worn the visor on a few occasions to confirm and test) -- how much pressure from a talon on her skin would make her hiss. How running his tongue horizontally over her clit would get her wet and pliant, while vertical strokes would work her up slowly. Those lessons came from one particular night, hours spent between her thighs until he was so hard and desperate that in one stroke, he came.

Her reported favorite position was sitting astride him, leading as always, but the times he’d taken her bent over her desk were some of the wettest she’d been, dripping down her thighs, so he would clean her with his tongue before taking her again, pinned between him and the shower wall, while water rained down on them, and he rained his adoration over her.

At times she was unable to say his full name. Instead her half-formed, stuttered gaps of “Gar-” became the lyrics of her pleasure. He knew, by pitch, tone, measure, if she was close.

And then it became difficult to concentrate. He would smell her, salty sweat and the ozone of spent heat sinks, and his need would roar in his ears. What was it Thane has called her? Siha - a warrior goddess? It was true, and he now knew his sins would only be absolved at her altar.


End file.
